And Every Moment in Between
by StarlitDreamer
Summary: An anthology that spans the entire MCU, from Captain America and Agent Carter to Endgame and Agents of SHIELD. No sexual content. Rated T because some chapters may contain potential triggers. Exact place in the timeline and ratings for individual chapters can be found at the top of each, and requests and prompts are welcome.
1. Ask Fitzsimmons

_Author's Note:_ I have been working on this collection for a _very_ long time and I finally think I have enough to start publishing. At the moment, they're planned as an alphabet collection - you know, this chapter starts with A, next will be B... you're smart people so you can extrapolate from there. Although I have nearly all of the letters planned out already, I love getting ideas/requests, so don't be shy about sending me a PM.

These Marvel moments are going to span the entire MCU - Captain America to Endgame and further. I'll note each chapters setting and rating in the title at the beginning of the chapter (see below in bold). I really hope that you enjoy them - I've had so much fun writing them.

~S

* * *

**Ask Fitzsimmons - Agents of SHIELD Season 1, Post-Episode 9 (Rating K)  
**

"Fitzsimmons, what's the flag of Lesotho look like?"  
"Tha's the green and blue one, right? Wi' the funny black hat on the white stripe in the middle."  
"Only since 2006 though. Before that it was the flag from their military coup in the 1980s - same colours, different pattern, and the symbol was a shield and feathered spear."  
"Great, thanks."  
"Yep."  
"Sure."  
Skye scowled and walked out of the lab to where Coulson was polishing Lola.  
"What was that about?"  
"I'm trying to find something that they don't know. I've been trying different types of trivia but I'm serious, AC, I think they know everything."  
"They're smart. But they don't know everything, Skye."  
"Oh yeah? On Thursday I asked them what the forty-fifth book in the Nancy Drew series is and Fitz answered before I was done asking the question."  
"That's - okay yeah, that's a little unexpected. But there has to be something they don't know."  
Skye's face brightened. "It would be easier to find something if I had help."  
"I'm not going to participate in undermining the self-confidence of members of my team."  
"Self-confidence, please, they're both plenty confident."  
"I wasn't talking about them."  
"Hey - rude!"

* * *

"I'm tellin' you, they're conspirin' now. Skye and her weird trivia questions are bein' backed by all the rest o'them too. Simmons, we're gonna lose."  
Simmons gave a longsuffering sigh from her perch on the counter as she squinted closer at her tablet. "Fitz, it isn't a competition. And I highly doubt that Agent May or Coulson or Ward don't have better things to do than help Skye find questions that we -"  
"Fitzsimmons?"  
"In here!"  
"Oh great," Ward's head appeared around the door, "do either of you know what temperature I should use to bake gingerbread cookies?"  
"350 Fahrenheit for 10-12 minutes." Both chorused.  
"Okay, thanks."  
But he sounded a bit grumpy as he disappeared and, as the door closed, Fitz spun back, both eyebrows raised at Simmons as she threw her hands in the air. "Okay, so perhaps they're helping her. What do you suggest that we do?"

* * *

Coulson walked into the kitchen to get a snack and was surprised to find half of the team there already, May chopping vegetables while Ward leaned against the half-wall drinking from a mug and Skye typed away at a tablet that she clutched to her chest for a second before relaxing. "Oh good, it's just you. Okay, May, what did you ask them?"  
"How many pounds of force does it take to stop a fully-grown male rhino going at full speed?"  
"Ouch. _Why_ is that something you know?"  
"May! You're in on this?"  
May just shrugged as he gaped at her, the ghost of a smile on her face. "I'm curious."  
"Besides, AC, May's got the best chance of finding something that they don't know, since she's loaded with kick-butt know-how and neither of them can kick anyone's butt. Well, Simmons could probably kick Fitz's butt but that's half because he wouldn't even try to beat her."  
Ward snorted into his mug and Coulson just frowned between the three of them, trying to figure out if he was feeling more amused, exasperated, curious, or - what, exactly.  
"You sure you don't want to help, AC? I have a list of good questions you could use."  
She held her tablet out for him to see and, against his better judgement, he took it, raising an eyebrow at the title of the page. "Ask Fitzsimmons?"  
"Yeah, it's like a game show."  
Shaking his head, he pushed the tablet back into her hands. "No, no, this is not how you build team morale. This is how you create factions."  
"AC, I think you're letting this get you too worked up. It's just a harmless, non-competitive - uh, experiment - between friends. They like experiments. And they don't even know we've got this going."  
"I guarantee they're smart enough to figure it out."  
Shaking his head, he reached over May's head to grab a box of crackers and left them to it, making his way downstairs. Checking casually behind him, he walked into the lab, closing the door behind him. Both scientists turned as one to look at him, eyebrows raised expectantly. "Sir?"  
"Yeah, I saw the questions. Ready?"  
"Ready."  
Fitz grinned like a madman as he typed down all the questions, starring the ones that they didn't automatically know the answers to - Coulson noticed it wasn't many.  
"That's all that they showed me, but I think Skye came up with most of those so it still leaves a lot of possibilities from Ward and May."  
"That's all right, they're both cut from the same cloth. Skye is more unpredictable anyway, so having her questions helps a great deal. Thank you, Sir. But, can I ask, why are you helping us and not them?"  
Coulson grinned as he hefted one of Fitz's new guns. "I could never resist pranking May."


	2. Budapest

_Author's Note:_ I started off with something light for the first chapter, but this is going to be much heavier (it very nearly went under H for "he made a different call" so that it would come later in the queue, but it really needed to go under the original title). However, this was the first of these that I began writing - years ago now - and it's been remolded several times since then.

* * *

**Budapest - Post-Agent Carter/Pre-Ironman (Rating T for blood and mentions of torture, violence, PTSD, and associated themes)  
**

He's exhausted and hungry by the time he gets back to his safe house. Even though he managed to escape - barely - the shootout with an unknown third party, he's been sneaking through backstreets for the better part of the night. But as the door closes, he's immediately on the alert, taking in every detail of the room before he even really looks at her because he instinctively recognizes the hair and the weapons dropped on his floor but it makes absolutely no sense that she's here, especially not _asleep on his couch_. It must be a trap.  
"Why the hell are you -"  
But he chokes off as he gets closer and _really_ sees her. She's not trying to attack or even to run. In fact, she's in no shape to do either. She's just looking at him through half-open eyes like she wishes he'd just end it. He could - and he almost does. But the more he takes in, he can understand why, and he feels sick and cold from dread as he kneels beside her, taking her hand gently because even though she's done horrible things and he's supposed to kill her, she doesn't deserve _this_.  
"You're safe here. I'm going to take care of you."  
Her eyes close, tears leaking from them, and that sight and the sound of her shaky sigh - or sob maybe, he can't tell - makes him so unbelievably angry that he needs to stand and focus on gathering the things he needs to help her.

* * *

It takes nearly an hour just to clean the blood away. He moves her to the bathtub because most of it is already dried and he needs to loosen her clothes with water just to separate them from her skin and even expose her wounds. He peels away almost all of the fabric before he notices, mostly because there's so much blood that even without the clothes it's like a second skin. One deep slash across her ribs is still bleeding and he's beginning to panic until he resorts to cauterizing it to get it to stop. Once she's finally free of blood and he's moved her again onto several layers of towels on his bed, he gets to bandaging and stitching and it's another two hours, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and more bandages and feet of gauze than he can count later by the time he finally sits back on his heels to survey his work.  
She's still awake, which shocks him because her eyes are still barely staying open and she's even paler than before. But she's hardly moved and hasn't made a sound through the entire process. And as he meets her eyes, he feels something dark coil in his stomach again because no one could just naturally bear that much pain. That kind of endurance needs to be trained into someone. They know almost nothing about the Red Room, except that they trained _her_, and she's so perfectly matched with him - the best that SHIELD has - that they've been in this ridiculous dance for months now. But now he finally thinks that he knows the answer to the question he's asked himself thousands of times in the months he's tracked and faced her - hated her - what turned her into a spy and a killer, the person who smiled at him over the body of her last victim like it didn't even matter? He thinks he might have an inkling now and he truly wishes that he didn't because he feels like he might be sick to his stomach forever. She's studying him too, and he almost jumps as she speaks for the first time. "I'm sorry for ruining the couch."  
"Don't worry about it."  
He needs to fight down the urge to laugh because laughter is not at all an appropriate response, but she sees it and raises an eyebrow. And the gesture is so familiar from all the times they've faced each other - even if the context is so _so_ wrong - that it brings the chuckle bursting out and he shakes his head, embarrassed. "I just can't believe that's what you're worrying about right now."  
Her lips pull into the barest smile and she makes a sound that he thinks is supposed to be a laugh but she just can't manage it well enough. Gently, he pulls the blanket over her and rests a hand on her shoulder, the comforting gesture coming easily despite the fact that this is someone he's tried to kill multiple times and who's tried just as hard to kill him most of those times and a few more. But regardless of all of that, right now he can't help but protect her. "Sleep. You're safe here."  
She doesn't question it - or maybe she just doesn't care - but either way her eyes close immediately as she finally gives in to sleep. He watches her, torn between fear that her breathing might just stop and fear that this is somehow a setup and she'll kill him in his sleep. But she keeps breathing, and after a while he becomes aware again of the blood on his clothes and the bandage wrappers strewn across the floor.  
He throws away all of their clothing without even a second glance. There's no way he can save them - even his are completely soaked in blood. Bleach stings his nose as he wipes up all the blood on the floor, then washes the tub and himself. As he walks back toward the kitchen, he sees that the couch is beyond saving too, large patches of black staining it now that the blood's dried. He just throws some sheets over it and sighs - he's going to have some explaining to do. He knows he should eat, but for once, his appetite is completely gone, so after a moment he just wanders back into the room. He sits, watching her sleep, fists clenching and unclenching as he tries to rid himself of the feeling of her blood coating his hands. And looking at her now, she's so small and frail tucked into the bed, and so pale, that it seems unbelievable that this is the same person he's been playing cat-and-mouse with. And he feels the rage rising in him again as he thinks of the contrast.  
_So you're the only one who gets to kill her?_  
He rolls his eyes because that isn't it at all. She was his mission. But he would never do _this_. Not even she would do this. Killing innocents doesn't seem to bother her necessarily when it happens and he knows she tortures people sometimes when she needs information, but she isn't sadistic. Whoever did this clearly gets a disgusting kind of pleasure from the suffering of others. Belatedly, he realizes that whoever that third party was, he was after her, not him, and that's the only reason that he escaped tonight - the only reason it's not him fighting for his life. And he wonders if he would have sought her out - and what she would have done.  
Suddenly, he's bone-numbingly tired, and he battles a moment with the need to stay awake - because if she stopped breathing here in his care he doesn't think he could live with himself. But finally, he lies down too, doing his best not to jostle her, and rests his hand along her side, close enough that he can feel her breathing move the sheet covering her, and he lets that lull him to sleep.

* * *

Fury is silent for a very long time. He's already spent a half-hour yelling and Clint knows that now he's weighing a million different factors in his mind - the advantages of having Russia's best assassin on their side, the likelihood that said assassin could dismantle their entire organization single-handedly, and, above all, how much he trusts Clint. Finally, there's a rush of static as Fury sighs deeply on the other end of the secured line. "Right, Barton. _Your_ responsibility. You stay there until she's recovered, and once she's recovered enough to kick your ass you spend another week. Reports, every. single. day. On my secure line, _painfully_ detailed. After that I'll move you periodically. This is going to be slow - agonizingly slow. If she rebounds, it's going to be your trusting neck on the line, understand?"  
"Yes, sir."  
But Clint knows that, despite his words and how renown he is for taking gambles, Fury wouldn't actually sanction this mission if he didn't trust Clint's gut instinct about this woman.  
"Fine. I want your first report tonight. And Clint," Fury's voice takes on a hint of a warning, "if this goes sideways, you're going to neutralize the threat yourself."  
Clint doesn't bother replying before hanging up, and he takes the last few stairs before unlocking the door.  
"What are you doing?!"  
Her head whips around, his voice breaking her concentration enough that she falls and he surges forward to catch her. "I'm fine."  
"Sure, fine. That's why you just fell over."  
He helps her onto the couch and reaches for the bandages over the gash on her abdomen, but she pushes his hands away with a glare. "I'm fine."  
Rolling his eyes, he moves back to lock the door. "You know, _you_ came to _me_ for help - it's not like I forced you to come here. Don't you want to heal properly?"  
"Yes. That isn't why -" she cuts off with a shake of her head, but he watches her for another moment, waiting for his brain to catch up with what his subconscious has realized.  
"You're afraid he'll find you - if you stay in one place too long."  
She met his eyes and, after a moment, nodded once. "Weak."  
He stood staring at her, too shocked by her scornful mutter to say anything for a moment before he dropped back to his knees, gripping her arm. "_Weak?_ That guy would make anyone afraid - what he _did _\- he makes _me _afraid. And being afraid is not the same as being weak. You're strong - irritatingly so, normally. You'll survive this, come out even stronger."  
Meeting his eyes, she swallowed, tears in her eyes but not falling. "Why are you helping me?"  
He raised an eyebrow. "Because you were hurt."  
She gave a snort of laughter, shifting stiffly as she muttered, "You're such a hero it's kind of disgusting."  
He snorted too, then frowned at her. "Wait, what did you expect me to do when you came here?"  
She settled back, not meeting his eyes. Disbelief washed over him. "You thought I'd kill you."  
She just shrugged. _Better you than him._  
For once, he was lost for words, and he just stared until finally, he managed to clear his throat. "Just relax, okay? I put a lot of work into fixing you up and I don't really want it all to be in vain."  
Weakly, she smiled, eyes already closed as if the energy that she'd just used was all she had. Maybe it was. He stood and busied himself with cooking. When he finished, he brought a tray to the bedside and lay a hand on her shoulder. Immediately, she tensed and her eyes snapped open. "No!"  
"Hey, hey," he held his hands up, "you're safe, it's just me."  
"Yeah, of course, just -" she took a deep breath before trying to sit up.  
"Hey," he sighed in exasperation, "come on, we talked about this!"  
Grunting in pain, she let him push her back down and then quirked an eyebrow at him. "Well, I assume that you woke me up for a reason."  
He gives her a dry look. "Look, since we're going to be together for a while, maybe we should start over. I'm Clint."  
She gave a snort of laughter. "Natalia."  
"Pleased to meet you. Now, are you hungry?"  
"I suppose."  
He gave her an incredulous look. "You _suppose_? You're not hungry?"  
"I didn't say that."  
"Food is one of the simple pleasures that we have left in our line of work. You need to learn how to enjoy it to its full potential."  
He set it in front of her and looked at her expectantly, but she just glanced back up at him. He rolled his eyes. "It isn't poisoned."  
"I'm supposed to just take your word?"  
"Why not?"  
"Because I don't trust you."  
He avoids mentioning the fact that apparently 24 hours ago she didn't care whether or not he killed her. "Well you're going to need to trust me for now." But he leans over and spears a bit of everything on her plate before sticking his fork in his mouth and raising his eyebrows at her as she chews. Her lips twitch like she wants to grin, but still just watches him.  
"Oh just eat!"  
Now she does grin, and as she begins to eat - eagerly, he notes with satisfaction - he feels a smile on his face too.

* * *

It takes a week for her to heal, and a two more before _he_ tracks them down again.  
"He won't stop until he's killed me." She says, not looking at him, her hand on the doorknob.  
And in that moment, Clint realizes two things. She cares enough that she's willing to put herself in more danger to keep him safe - and he cares enough that he can't let her. So he just tightens his hold s on her wrist.  
"Okay. So we kill him first."  
Expressionless, she looks back at him, but he raises his chin and refuses to back down until, finally, she nods once.

* * *

They don't have long to wait until he finds them again - bringing along friends this time - and they end up in another shootout where - finally - they kill the mystery sadist. And they realize he's only the tip of the knife, and how long and deadly their list of opponents really is.

* * *

Years later, when trust has become such a small word for the bond that they've built, she treats it lightly - like a joke.  
"It's like Budapest all over again."  
But even though he can turn almost anything into a joke, he can't with this. Especially not now that he knows so much more about her - how coming to anyone for help is still her absolute last resort. And now he cares more about her too, loves her, just as much as the rest of his family, so Budapest is what his nightmares are made of - her bleeding out and injured, but mostly the hopelessness - the defeat - that he remembers in her eyes. But he knows that this is how she copes with darkness, and so he manages to keep his voice light even though he's fighting off flashbacks to a Natasha he hopes never to see again.  
"You and I remember Budapest very differently."

* * *

_Author's Note:_ Honestly I'm more nervous to share this chapter than I've ever been to share any of my writing because, oddly, this is one of my pieces that I'm most proud of. If it sounds a bit incomplete, that's because this is actually just an excerpt - the real thing is quite a bit longer and dives deeper into everything, but it is heavy so I shortened it here. So apologies for any choppiness.

This is the heaviest chapter at the moment, so if it was too much, don't give up on me just yet.


End file.
